One Afternoon
by hollygofightly
Summary: Plover, 1914. Emma uses her free time to sort through some complicated emotions about her brother. Rated M for sexual content.


_Plover, WI, 1914_

The wind rustled through the leaves of the old-growth trees that towered overhead, sending shivers across her face that dueled with the dappled sunlight on her skin. Emma lay on a bed of grass in a forest clearing, several miles from the farm. She had packed herself a picnic of day-old bread, apples, and cheese from Hansen's dairy down the road. She couldn't remember the last afternoon that had been hers to waste as she pleased, and she was eager to make it count.

At her side lay the old rifle, its cold metal barrels nestled into the crook of a protruding root. It calmed her to know that it was just within her reach, calmed her as it had every day since the night he had used it to come to her rescue. She laid back and basked in the warmth of the late spring sun filtering through the trees. Her long, obsidian hair lay in messy plates on either shoulder, errant strands fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes, dark blue pools that had a habit of shifting to green or grey, depending on the light, flickered shut in the calm of light and birdsong that surrounded her.

This was always the moment, in the semi-darkness of closed eyelids and relative silence, when visions of him rushed through her mind, if they had ever really left it to begin with. His inky black hair brushed from his forehead, his dark eyes doubles of hers; even that mustache he could never manage to grow. In her mind it was only them, hands clasped and lips mere inches from each other. In height, he had finally caught up with her, then quickly surpassed her, and his arms, once wiry in the awkward limbo of early adolescence, had since grown strong and dangerously inviting. His striking good looks had blossomed seemingly overnight, and what was once the innocent intimacy of childhoods spent at each other's sides had since transformed into a disorienting blur of burgeoning emotions that left her retreating into herself for the first time in her short life.

But here, in the solitude of her thoughts, they were free to love each other however they saw fit—through tender touches and excited gasps and hungry nibbles at each other's lips. Was it so wrong that it felt so natural, exploring the curves of their bodies in the safety and trust of each other's warm embrace? Was it so difficult to accept that these yearnings could be anything but sinful? Their closeness was a hazard of their upbringing, the Harrow twins versus the world, intimate from before their first breath of Wisconsin air—the same air that now cooled the throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs as she pulled up her skirt to accommodate her touch, possessed as she was by the thought of him.

"Emma?"

She sat up like a shot, whipping her head around in pursuit of the intruder. "Who's there?" she called, the slightest tremor breaking through her confident timbre.

Of course, it was Richard. "There you are," he said, his voice awash with relief as he pushed aside a branch and entered the clearing. "I've been looking all over for you?"

"Jesus, Richard," she sighed, struggling to her feet and smoothing her skirt in embarrassment.

"What?"

"Didn't it occur to you that maybe I didn't want to be found? Leave me alone." She gathered her things, struggling with the strap of the rifle in her haste to disappear.

"Sis—" He grabbed her arm, his grip gentle but insistent. "You can't keep avoiding me. I mean, we live together."

She paused, hating herself for wanting leave as much as for wanting to stay. "I just—" she started, turning towards him with her eyes downcast.

He pulled her towards him and lifted her chin with his finger. "It's okay, Sis."

"No, it's not." She pulled away, but he wouldn't drop her hand. He pulled her back toward him, placing a firm hand on her lower back. He brought their foreheads together, their long-practiced gesture of inherent trust.

"You think I don't feel it too?" His breath was hot against her cheek, and she couldn't stop the hand that fluttered to caress his familiar face. "Emma..." Their lips were so close, the invisible barrier between them crumbling with each synchronized heartbeat.

"Richard," she breathed, brushing her lips against his. He held her closer, mirroring her touch with his own. And then he pressed his mouth to hers, lips soft and full and inviting. Surprised by the jolt of excitement that coursed through their veins, they pressed their tongues together, breathing their lifetime of affection into each velvety massage. He had pushed her hat from her head, his hand gripping her head to envelope her ever further; her fingers weaved eagerly through his thick, soft hair. She could feel the hardening bulge in his trousers digging into her abdomen, and she leaned into it, instinctively bucking her hips against his. All she had ever wanted was in this kiss, and now she wanted something more, something animalistic and forbidden.

He pulled away, just far enough to speak but still so achingly close to her. "I love you," he gasped. "I love you more than anything."

"I know."

"I only want to be with you."

"What about Jenny Hastings?" she laughed, tears pooling in her eyes.

"She doesn't mean anything to me. You know that."

"Richard, we can't—"

"I don't care what they think. You're the one I want." He pulled her close, into another deep, ravenous kiss—

The screech of a startled bird jolted her awake. She was alone in the clearing, sprawled out on the grass, her picnic forgotten by her side. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, scanning her surroundings for the source of the disturbance.

"Emma?" Richard emerged past an errant bough, his footsteps clumsier than hers ever were. "Emma. I've been looking all over."

"I'm sorry, Richard. I must've dozed off." She leaned back on her hands as he lowered himself to the forest floor beside her.

He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them; it made him look vulnerable and self-conscious, but she loved that about him. She scooted close to him and rested her head on his shoulder; he lifted a comforting arm and laced it around her shoulder. "Sure is peaceful out here," he said.

"Richard?"

"Yeah, Sis?"

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

"No—" She pulled away ever so slightly. "—that's not what I mean."

He squeezed her shoulder. "I know what you meant," he said, planting a tender kiss on her temple.

The sun was sinking behind the trees, the air growing ever cooler. They would need to head back soon, to where Ma and Pa would be waiting with all of their work and expectations. But for a few brief moments longer, they were blessedly alone in the solitude of the forest, a silent understanding passing between them. It was a secret that needn't be spoken aloud, that their intimacy had evolved into something that all to often threatened to overwhelm them both. But for this one brief afternoon they were free to sit in each other's embrace, unconcerned with what the future held, the love between them enough for now.


End file.
